Page 25 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

“It’s not—clearly, we can’t do this, Serena.”

“I want this,” I say, trailing my hands up over his chest, under his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders until it falls back on his chair. “Alex is dead to me. And he always said he didn’t really have a family. So maybe we should do a little less moral policing and a little more letting ourselves enjoy each other’s company.”

Travis’s breath comes quicker. His mouth presses into a flat line, his body going perfectly still. For a second, I think he might actually shut this down, might actually push me away.

But when I start to unbutton his dress shirt, he mutters, “Fuck it.”

In just a few seconds, I go from standing in front of him to whirling around, my hips leaning into his desk. Apparently, Travis and I are going to be desk-sex people. I don’t have a problem with that.

My entire body is thrumming with happiness, and I realize that I intended for this to happen. Yeah, I was angry that he left me in the hotel room on my own, but my body apparently also wanted more ofthis.

Travis must hit a button because the blinds over the glass start to lower. It makes me laugh. So fancy, so Travis.

“You really think anyone is going to see us, all the way up here?” I ask, and he reaches around, hand gently wrapping around my throat.

Drawing me up so my back is flush with his front, he whispers in my ear, “Maybe they won’t. But I don’t want to riskanyonegetting to see you like this, Serena. You are mine. All mine.”

With that, he kicks my feet apart, pushes me back down onto the desk, and slides a hand from my clit to my entrance, letting out a low noise when he finds me both wet and not wearing panties. I realize that I never did find them the night before.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, planting a hand on my back and fucking me with his fingers, teasing me, sliding them through my wetness until I’m writhing and begging him just tofuckme.

I feel wild. Unhinged.

Maybe I’d never realized it before, without something to compare to, but with Alex, I was always holding something back.Being more vanilla in sex than I really was. Not asking for what I really wanted. Because if I did, he might realize I wasn’t enough for him. Or, actually, that I wastoomuch for him.

But with Travis, it’s different. His hand on my throat last night was an invitation to something more than a missionary position, something more than half-hearted blow jobs.

And now, he reaches up, pulling the clip from my hair and lacing his fingers through my hair instead, using his grip as leverage. His pull is sharp but not painful, a strange, biting sensation that only adds to the pleasure of his fingers on my clit.

It’s like being bracketed by him, one hand creating pleasure, the other creating just a taste of pain.

“Oh,fuck,” I hiss, and then immediately hear the fumbling of his belt, then the hard press of his eager cock against my ass. He kneads my ass, rocking against me, before pulling back and slapping just hard enough to sting ever so slightly.

Another thing I’ve never done with anyone before, and certainly not Alex. Another thing that I might have thought would feel silly, stupid—but it’s not the thing itself, it’s the fact that Travis wanted to do it, that he’s behind me, holding me, relishing the control that I’ve given him.

Desire crashes through me, and I feel desperate, needy, so I reach back and grab at his cock, pumping once, twice, before he takes my wrist and pins it to the desk, using his other hand to line himself up at my entrance.

“This is such a bad idea,” I murmur, teasing him, pushing back against his erection. “Remember?”

“I know,” he rasps, before pushing inside me, his hip coming flush with my ass, the pressure and filling sensation nearly enough to drag my orgasm straight up from the depths.

And this time, despite our best efforts, Travis’s massive mahogany desk doesn’t move an inch.

Chapter 12

Serena

Travis’s phone chimes thirty seconds after we finish.

He pulls me up from the desk, sets his hands on my waist, and kisses me softly, as I feel what he left behind start to run down my leg.

“Shit,” Travis mutters. “That’s my breakfast.”

When I come back from the bathroom, Travis is taking container after container out of a tall brown paper bag.

“What’s all this?” I ask, stopping and raising an eyebrow at him. Somehow, I feel comfortable here with him, even after what we just did. Even after wiping him off my skin in the bathroom, and with us both wearing our clothes from the night before.

“You should know that I don’t normally eat like this,” he says, eyes darting up to mine. For a second, he looks like the same Travis I know, then a smile unfurls over his face as he shakes his head. “I can’t eat all this—I don’t know what I was thinking. Sleep deprivation.”